


Fate/Null

by Primifluous



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Primifluous/pseuds/Primifluous
Summary: The war begins over lunch.To the East, a traveler arrived at a battlefield. As the sun set in the West, a prodigy discovered her murdered lover. In the cold North, a dire warning went unheeded. Miles to the south, a farmer made a deal with a devil. And in the center of it all, two sisters enjoyed chilled cucumber soup.This is a story about fighting for others, and fighting for yourself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wreckage still smoldered after all these years. Some places are too proud, even in ruin, to surrender to time.  
> Buried under soot-smeared marble, a diary lies dormant.  
> A fool brave enough to dig through the castle's remains might stumble across it. Most of the pages are lost. Eaten by age in its many forms. But a few remain.  
> And here is what that fool might read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been long in the making. A new take on the Fourth Holy Grail war, with certain important shifts--firstly, that House Einzbern didn't create Irisviel. Instead, there's a set of twins raised for the sake of the War.  
> And instead of Arturia, the Servant to be summoned is something quite different.  
> Any comments or critiques are always welcome!

The First Entry 

            “ _Heed my words, my will creates your body_ …”

            “What’s that?” Vasilisa asked.

            I blushed. “Nothing really. Just something from Grandfather’s lesson.”

            “He did stress the importance of the summoning,” Vasilisa said. “For such a simple spell…‘These words will define your destiny. They are your destiny’. I suppose something important must be coming.”

            “Because he stressed a lesson? That’s happened before.”

            “Yes,” my sister said. Her lips parted to continue, but instead she paused. The laden moment of an almost-something dragged on. Taking up her spoon, she stirred her soup. Fishing for answers, perhaps.

            “Yet our other lessons have ended. Etiquette, chemistry…all finished. Only the alchemy lessons remain. He must be narrowing our focus for something, surely.”

            I admired her insight. After years of study, we had both mastered the vast network of Magic Circuits within our bodies. But Vasilisa could see connections between things I never could. The world she occupied moved differently than mine. Some secret power radiated from her. To sit beside her was to bask in her presence.  Even in the photographs taken of us, where we wore identical dresses and lifted our chins at same angle, anyone could tell the difference.

            “I think you’re right,” I said, turning my attention to my soup. It was the same as always: chilled cucumber. Each time tasting it reminded me of the first. I was five years old, and had never tasted something so thoroughly disgusting in my life. The spoonful of sickly green liquid tasted like thumbtacks as it sloshed over my tongue and down my seizing throat.

            And after sampling the same concoction, my sister had said, “Thank you, Grandfather, this is delicious.”

            I remember her sitting across the table, smiling at the man who towered over us. I remember being unable to understand her perfect smile. That, and the desire to vomit.

            “I’m glad you like it, Vasilisa. I had it made just for you.” Although I can’t recall exactly the first part—perhaps it was “I’m delighted to hear that, Vasilisa”—the second part I know for sure. I had heard it many times before. By five years old I had learned the family constellation: the glowing center, the watchful guardian, and the signaling dots that completed the picture. I was the sputtering dust passing by.

            Some stars that appear to be one point of light are actually two. Conglomerates of dust gather in two points until they become so massive they ignited. And unlike most newborn stars, one doesn’t subsume the other. They share a point of revolution called a barycenter, which is determined primarily by the larger, brighter _primary_ star. The smaller, dimmer _secondary_ star spirals around its twin and is rarely seen. They’re called binary stars and I wondered if the universe knew about me.

            Later, when we began studying magecraft, I found a subject that resisted me. It challenged me and I delighted in the struggle. While my sister spoke with Grandfather, or played in the gardens, or rescued stray cats, I read every book within my reach. Grandfather warned me that I would ruin my eyes, but I never cared. Glasses were a small price to pay. With all this knowledge, I reasoned, I could surely prove myself a worthy heir of the Einzbern family.

            When our first exam was administered, my sister earned a perfect score. Grandfather smiled that day. The valleys carved into his face disappeared and for once I believed that he, too, was a person. Best of all was his smile: it looked like hers, even if it didn’t shine half so brightly. That magic could never be replicated. We all shared in it, though. Everyone was their best self around her. So when she jumped up from her seat and, hugging me, and asked “Can you believe it?” I told her that I was proud.

            An eclipse occurs when three celestial bodies align, causing one body to be obscured by another. This alignment is called syzygy. In ancient Greek, syzygy means “yoked together”. Syzygies occur frequently in binary star systems, but without advanced equipment they’re impossible to detect.

            “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been crying,” she asked one night. This was days after the first exam, or perhaps the fourth. I didn’t answer because I didn’t know how. I felt her warmth behind me but couldn’t turn head to face her. My eyes were transfixed to the page, reading and rereading the same passage. Maybe she understood what I couldn’t say, or maybe not. But after that, when I would barricade myself in the library, she would sit with her back against mine. We never exchanged words, but I like to think our best conversations happened among those stacks.

            If I made my home in the library, Vasilisa bloomed in the garden. On the western terrace of the castle, Grandfather installed a massive greenhouse because my sister liked flowers. Everywhere she went, the smell of lilacs followed. She began planting them all over the castle, in vases, on mantlepieces, and one time in the palm of a statue’s hand. Another smell followed her, too, one that I couldn’t name. It was like the sizzling vibrancy of summer air before a storm rolled in. A certain aliveness that stole the air from my lungs and made my hairs stand alert, waiting for her next everyday miracle.

            But the hearts of stars are always changing. The incredible pressure in their plasma cores induces constant nuclear fusion, which converts one element into another. As stars age, older and heavier elements burn in their centers. When I explained it to my sister she didn’t understand, but thought “stellar nucleosynthesis” sounded nice. Grandfather said that I shouldn’t bother reading things like that, because knowing about stars won’t help the family. So I stopped reading about stars. He taught me how to make chilled cucumber soup, so that when he left on business trips Vasilisa could always enjoy her favorite meal.

            Today my face doesn’t move when I force bowls of cucumber soup down my throat. But still I struggle to smile with the taste in my mouth. After swallowing, I turned my attention back to my sister.

            “Whatever is coming, we will be ready for it,” Vasilisa declared. In times like this she truly resembled our ancestors. A myriad of portraits decorated the halls, showcasing our noble ancestors, equal parts dashing and dutiful. I don’t know what she saw then, but her faraway eyes seemed to pierce through the stone walls of the castle and reveal the land beyond. I knew the geography of the terrain. Low hills huddle at the hems of mountains. A river wrapped around the east and north of the castle. Given a blank paper I could reproduce almost an exact copy of the map that hangs in the library. Defensible land, Grandfather called it.

            When I was young, I imagined that Grandfather was born a mountain. He must have been one of the first mountains to emerge from the earth, and easily the tallest. The land for miles around balked under his shadow. It was his land. Defined by and for him. But after so long, he became bored with the empty tundra. The vastness could not outweigh the emptiness. Years would pass unmarked, so much so that Grandfather became ancient without aging at all. Finally, uprooted himself and walked here, built a castle, and raised two girls. And he forbade them from ever leaving.

            One day, I promised myself, we will leave the castle and see the world for ourselves. This stifling place could not hold Vasilisa forever. Although she never admitted it aloud, I knew her heart yearned for something beyond the smooth stone walls that encased our lives.

            One day…

            A chime interrupted our meal. It was the high, hollow sound that signaled that someone was coming to visit our suite.

            “Grandfather isn’t due for a lesson this afternoon. And the maids came this morning. How strange,” mused Vasilisa. She glided over to the main corridor, holding her hands at the sides of her dress. That posture allowed for a quick courtesy, as not to lose any time before showing respect.

            A moment behind, I followed. The unexpectedness of the bell had roused me to something like excitement. According to our routine, the next activity would be a walk through the gardens and two hours of transmutations. But that day ran differently.

            “Good afternoon, Grandfather,” I heard her say from the hall. As I rounded the entryway, my sister bowed like a porcelain figurine. Looming above was our implacable Grandfather. His white hair cascaded down from his head to his mid-back, shrouding him in a snowy veil. Only his face could be seen; every inch of his body was covered in fine cloaks and garments. I never recall seeing so much as the palm of his hand.  

            “Greetings Vasilisa.” If he felt any displeasure at my tardiness, or any satisfaction at Vasilisa’s perfect courtesy, he betrayed none of it.

            “Good afternoon,” my sister replied. “I must admit, Grandfather, you surprise us with your visit. Has something happened?”

            He sighed, a slow controlled exhale that indicated something like aggravation. A beckoning hand asked Vasilisa to stand. She rose, standing almost even to his chest. Although I could not see her face, I knew Vasilisa studied him with keen eyes. Any show of emotion from Grandfather was a momentous event. When he spoke again, his voice was meticulously even.

            “There have been troubling developments,” he said. “Therefore I must accelerate your curriculum. Beginning tomorrow, you will have lessons in defensive thaumaturgy in the courtyard immediately following breakfast. After lunch, combat thaumaturgy. Is that clear?”

            Vasilisa resumed her radiant disposition, bobbing her head with filial energy. “Of course, sir! We will be ready.”

            “What kind of developments?” I asked.

            For a moment nothing happened. Then a mountain stirred. Waves of snow shifted as Grandfather turned to face me. I was still in the back of the room, half hidden behind the threshold, and the pressure of his gaze drove the breath from my lungs. When was time I saw those eyes? Were they always so piercing?

            I found my voice and tried again.

            “What manner of troubling events, Grandfather?” I intoned Vasilisa as much as I could. In my own ears, the words sounded too ungainly to be worthy of response. Almost right but distinctly false. I’d never been forbidden from speaking to him, not explicitly, but Vasilisa had eloquently represented us both. With twins, one mouth may speak for two. I learned that long ago. Yet Grandfather answered:

            “A war is coming, girl. The only war that matters. It’s been coming for decades and I have readied our family as best I could. But already fate would undo all my preparations, and I fear we will have no war at all.”

            Vasilisa cocked her head to left, and a small pout visited her lips. “But surely ending a war would be a good result, Grandfather?” she asked. I wondered the same thing.

            He closed his eyes and pondered the question. I yearned to know his thoughts. When he opened his eyes again, he stared ahead. Forward, outward, stretching towards some horizon I’d never seen.

            “It is time I taught you about the Holy Grail War,” he said.

            Vasilisa smiled faintly; she was right, of course. Something important was coming. Years would pass before I understood its significance. All I knew then, beside my perfect sister and below my unfathomable Grandfather, was that my childhood had ended.


	2. The Habitable Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years have passed, and training has begun for the Fourth Holy Grail War. Vasilisa demonstrates the fruits of her training, while the littler twin faces some unpleasant truths.

Many Pages Later

“Again!”

             The men rushed her again, brandishing their halberds in identical formation. She dispatched them differently this time: hungry fire consumed the first. A thrashing silver wire relieved the second of his legs. Quicksand stalled the third and fourth, allowing the wire to open them, belly to throat, like fish. Only the fifth man came close enough to lunge at her. With her thin-wristed hand, she seized the upper length of the handle. Suddenly brittle, it shattered under its own weight. Before the startled man could react, Vasilisa sent a maverick jolt into his chest. His heart convulsed, and then ceased. He tumbled into the dirt and lay there, gasping as his world faded away. For a mute eternity, nothing moved except the dying man. And then he too was still.

            “Again!”

            Grandfather’s voice boomed across the courtyard, echoing in the cold, crisp air of that autumn day. At his command, the bodies of the dead lurched and groaned. Skin and sinew knotted themselves back into human shape, and the reformed men took their positions facing my sister. They rushed her again, and in four seconds they were back on the bloodied ground.

            Bile burned in my throat, but I refused to move. After weeks of practice, I had learned to quiet my jumping nerves.

            Breathe in, hold for eight seconds, and release. Focus on the body, forget the world around me. I collected myself enough notice my sister. Her chest rose and fell in that same controlled pattern. Did her hands also shake?

            To judge by her stillness, I doubt it. She stood at the epicenter of the slaughter, tall, slim, and unmarred by it all. Only the vicious wires moved, swaying idly over the dead. If it weren’t for the sunlight gleaming on their edges, they would have been almost invisible. Except, of course, where the blood still dripped.

            “Were you injured?” I asked, attempting to banish the silence. I already knew the answer.

            “No, thank you,” Vasilisa replied. Her head angled back towards me just enough to reveal the profile of her face. Cherry lips pressed together into a narrow grin as her eyes locked onto Grandfather. Even from the balcony, the challenge emanating from those eyes could not be lost on him.

            “You wish to continue, then?” Grandfather asked, pride humming in the question. “Very good. One more round will suffice for today.”

            Each broken homunculus glowed as their magic circuits activated, repairing the damage to their bodies.  Slowly, they rose to their feet and assembled in a circle surrounding Vasilisa. A single corpse remained where it had fallen, scorched and ruined. Stuttering light emanated from its circuits, causing the limbs to spasm. The legs kicked wildly, dragging the half-alive homunculus across the ground. A trail of blood and viscera followed it. Skin bubbled at the edges of burns and cuts inflicted a minute before. But the wounds were too deep, the burns too severe. There was no future for that one; even Grandfather’s magecraft could not stave off death forever.

            Breathe. In for eight seconds, hold, out for eight seconds. They aren’t real people. Forget the world around me.

            Grandfather explained the nature of these homunculi when Vasilisa began her live practices. They appear human, they move like humans, but they lack any purpose but obedience. No imagination or emotion exists within them. So when the face of the ruined creature stretched and twisted, eyes livid with a facsimile of pain and confusion, I tried diligently to remember that they were never really alive to begin with.

            Two wires slithered over to the convulsing body and fell upon it. In identical strokes, they severed the neck in a spray of blood. The face was still.

            “I need another,” Vasilisa said, her voice soft and sweet.

            From his lofted position, Grandfather nodded and waved his hand. Another homunculus strode out from the sidelines, accompanied by five more. All ten figures surrounded us with their halberds poised to advance. The recycled ones stood as ready as the fresh reserve. Without the deformations of their imperfect healing, I couldn’t have distinguished them. They seemed inexhaustible, just like my sister.

            “This time, you have a new objective,” Grandfather announced. “Protect your sister. Any injury to her will be regarded as failure. Ready?”

            I tried to say something then. Instead, a small sound choked in my throat as those predatory eyes bored into me. I’d never been the target of live exercises before. I hadn’t been properly thankful for that until now.

            Vasilisa spoke a command word and the wires formed a shimmering circle around me.

            “Stay there. I may require some support this time,” she said, angling her voice low. I nodded vigorously and said something to the effect of yes, of course. The warm promise of usefulness made the tension somewhat bearable. I thought of incantations for healing, matter reinforcement, state changes, defensive wards, levitation. Page after page of notes appeared in my mind’s eye. Something like a plan coalesced, and I thought that this might go well.

            Then they attacked and I forgot everything.

            Two of the new homunculi charged nearly shoulder to shoulder. I only saw them in my periphery before white-blue tongues of supernatural heat reduced them to cinder. The wires coiled around another and dissected his hands, feet, and throat instantly. Vasilisa had drawn her own dagger to deflect a halberd. Jutting stalagmites of stone had pierced the legs of three, reducing them to a crawl or worse. Three had held back from the initial rush—each of them showing signs of numerous deaths. They stalked the battlefield with eyes unblinking, circling, circling. Then, as one, they surged in. One leapt at Vasilisa while his companions closed towards me.

            I expected the wires to cut into them after their first strides. I readied myself for the viscera and the wet, grating noises. Instead, they raised their weapons to strike. Every ounce of defensive magecraft vanished from my mind when I realized that those blades were coming for my chest. And they might find their mark.

            “Down!” Vasilisa shouted. Suddenly behind me, she thrust me to the ground and stood above me. Blood dripped onto my cheek from somewhere, then more: a thin stream pooled onto my face and into my mouth. The thick, metallic stuff made my stomach turn. I spat it out quickly, dismissing the fact that I didn’t abhor the taste.

            Only two attackers remained, but Vasilisa strained to hold them at bay. Each dodge and parry came slower than the last, just barely ahead of the oncoming blades.

            Twisting against another blow, my sister’s foot caught the edge of my coat. I felt a sharp tug and then nothing as her foot gave away, sending her tumbling off balance. Instantly the men lunged at her, two merciless points ready to impale her heart.

            Someone shouted an incantation—I believe it was me, but I’m not sure—and energy pulsed from my arms into Vasilisa’s skin. Her dove-white complexion glowed with green light, just a heartbeat before the two polearms found their mark.

            But instead of piercing her, the blades bounced away as if driven against a stone wall. 

            And instead of being pierced, my sister was flung from her feet and landed in the grass beside me. Tears ran freely from her eyes, mixing in with the sweat and blood. In hoarse, greedy gulps she tried to recover the wind that had been knocked from her lungs. One eye was obscured by matted hair, the other remained focused on our assailants. They towering over me now, regarding their weapons with a flat expression, inspecting the blades that had defied them. Satisfied, they readied for another strike.

            “ _Ut pulvis!_ ” I yelled, stretching my hand towards the weapons. Each of the polished oak shafts disintegrated into a brown-gray cloud. Metal clattered uselessly to the earth, dulled and pitted with rust.

            For a second I didn’t believe it. As their weapons vanished, so too did the balance of the two homunculi. With now-empty hands they stumbled over me. They paused to regain themselves.

            In that narrow time, Vasilisa had recovered. And the wire had pulled itself free. The two men were butchered cleanly and efficiently. Throats sliced and hearts speared for good measure. The world turned too red, too hot, and the urge to scream clambered from within me. Blood covered my face and pooled around the corpses that, now prone, laid too close to me.

            An urge to flee electrified my limbs. Get up and go, run, past the gardens and walls of the castle. Away from the endless hollow deaths. Away from the pain in their faces that wasn’t allowed to be real.  

             “Are you okay?” My sister called for me someplace far away. Just a moment before, I was by her side, surrounded by our grim successes. But I was locked inside now. In a shuttered place I lay on the ground with faces staring into me: Dead faces, familiar faces, the face in the mirror. The gaze of Grandfather as he looks into me, trying to find my sister.

            “Answer me! Are you okay?”

            The faces vanished and Vasilisa had me in her arms. She glowed like the sun and for a moment I forgot if I loved or feared her.

            “Yes,” I answered. Sight and sound re-aligned. The familiar weight returned to my heart. I mumbled something about being unhurt.

            “Good. That’s good,” she said. “We did it, sister. I’m proud of you.”

            _She’s proud of me…_

            “But you’re hurt!” I cried. Rivulets of red seeped from her. The sleeve of her shirt was savaged, reduced to sodden ribbon. Beneath, an arm was held very still as not to tremble.    “Please, I insisted, let me…” I spoke a verse, and the bleeding stopped. But it would scar.

            “Next time, I won’t freeze up. I’ll be quicker. I promise.”

            “I know.”

            She pulled me to my feet and together we hobbled back to the castle, where the maids had set out chilled cucumber soup.

           

            Grandfather engineered many scenarios for Vasilisa’s training; over a period of weeks, he ordered construction of towers, ponds, and all manner of obstacles to serve as training grounds. Each time, he pit more of the reanimating homunculi against my sister. The arts of devastation came easily to her; with each challenge her skills grew more potent and varied. My role consisted primarily of avoiding danger and providing minor healing and protection when necessary.

            In the evenings, after the usual luncheon and visits by the medical staff, Vasilisa and I would study. Tomes of magecraft lined an entire wall of the castle’s library, positively brimming with incantations and rites for us to learn. We made a game of it. I combed the pages for alchemical transfigurations, wards, and enchantments. Vasilisa would memorize their formation, rehearsing them into her magic circuits. At first, I attempted to follow along. But by the time my sister had mastered the technique, I had only absorbed a bare foundation. For efficiency’s sake, I instead devoted myself to perusing the books.

            The idea of a game soothed by discomfort somewhat. The appalling bloodshed could be forgotten each evening. We were just two girls playing together, learning and growing in the lamp-lit stacks of the library. The deep shades of the collection came alive in the flickering light, granting an autumnal aura within the stony room. This windowless enclave was the liveliest part of Eizenbern castle, away from the crystalline perfection that suffocated everything else. I remember confiding that thought with my sister. In response, she smiled and placed her hand on my head. “Of course you love it here, silly,” she said. “This is where you belong.”

            I did not understand precisely what she meant by that. Even now I wonder.

            What I did know for certain, however, was that Vasilisa took to Grandfather’s war games far more than I. Her gentle aura—once an invisible halo—now felt more alike a bonfire. At times the air shimmered around her body. In the starlit dark of winter evenings, the space around my sister seemed to possess a resonant light. Not a light stark enough to register in the conscious mind, yet too poignant for instinct to ignore. Each violent day she blossomed more and more. Spring bloomed eternal in fountains of blood.

            Around this time I began to form questions. Why did she relish this training so? What power burned in her veins as she tore apart our adversaries? Did she know that to stand by her side was to feel the heat of her bonfire soul? Never did I ask any of these. Not for lack of curiosity; a dread suspicion silenced me at every turn. My loving sister could not possibly be aware of this startling change. My angelic twin, my guardian, my purpose. Where has our youth gone? I would spend the rest of my life weeping in the dark if you came to comfort me, just as you did before. The sharpening version of Vasilisa betrayed those memories. If duty alone propelled her into Grandfather’s training, it would be easier. Only he would be responsible.

            Hope pressed me into silence. Each unasked question added an ember to my hope that Vasilisa was still my sister. Still the effortless bastion of my life. Without confirmation, anything might be true.

            So I waited, and I watched. Happiness floated by like clouds interspersed upon the great, boundless sky.

            The Sun of our familiar sky appears quite close, but in reality hangs in space roughly one hundred and fifty million kilometers away. Even at such a vast distance, the stability and warmth it provides has allowed all manner of life to develop on Earth. Additionally, the very material that formed the Earth is remnants from the Sun’s creation; the orbits of Earth and other surrounding planets can therefore be said to result from serendipitous afterthoughts. Still, Earth is the luckiest of all these chance creations, as it exists in the perfect orbit for life, otherwise called the _Circumsteller Habitable Zone_. Too much deviation from this zone results in temperatures too hot or too cold to sustain life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added some to the end, and chapter three is soon on it's way!


	3. The Two Body Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, another character enters the stage. An unknown force pries at the little sister's life. A door is opened that can never be closed.

Several Entries Woven Together

            The pale-eyed stranger arrived one month later, trailing smoke and drifting snow behind him. At a terse pace he approached Grandfather, who awaited at the head of a welcoming party: a compliment of maids, porters, and guards arranged in flanking rows all along the grand hall. Every surface of the castle’s entryway had been cleaned and polished in anticipation of this moment. Portraits hung in gilded frames, with silver-haired greeting every soul below their magisterial gaze. Starched blue banners hung between marble columns to boast the Einzbern family crest. The wealth of our ancient family bore down upon this newcomer, while my sister and I watched from the back, anticipating his actions. Nothing was too small a clue, to learn about the man who would be my sister’s teacher.

            He grew closer and closer, finally stopping before the first of two armed guards. These rigid guardians held their halberds at the ready, equally prepared to receive friend or foe.

            Until now the stranger retained an air of indifference. His eyes moved to appreciate nothing in the richly decorated hall. Reaching into his coat, he produced a small cylinder and a book of matches. Lighting it, he breathed deeply into one end. Smoke billowed out his nostrils as he turned to face Grandfather.

            “You invited me, Acht,” he stated. “And here I am, at your disposal.”

            “I did,” Grandfather said. “This means that you accept the terms of my hospitality, yes?” His baritone voice filled the massive room, causing a moment’s hesitation before the darkly dressed man replied.

            “Yes. I was in no position to refuse.”

            Silence reclaimed the room. I looked to Vasilisa to gauge her reaction. For all the strangeness of the day, her steadfast complexion held its fierce, porcelain poise. Nearly unchanged. I noticed only the smallest microexpressions. Her lips pressed in upon each other. Muscles drew in towards her center. Tension radiated from her like a coiled spring, or a viper ready to strike.

            From our vantage, perched on the rear balcony, Vasilisa seemed ready to reprimand her would-be teacher for his impudent tongue. And from his position on the floor below, the man angled his narrow face upwards slightly. A single blue eye settled upon us, sending a jolt through my stomach.

            “We should wait before introducing ourselves, don’t you think?” I asked. Beside me, my sister inhaled sharply.

            “Yes,” she answered. “We should not forget our manners.”

            I took two measured breathes and returned my attention to Grandfather. Clad in ceremonious white robes, he truly looked the part of a snow-covered mountain. His beard, obscuring his stony face, reminded me of a frozen waterfall. Such terrific energy, stilled by utter cold.

            “I welcome you, Emiya Kiritsugu,” Grandfather said as he extended his hand. “I look forward to the results of our work.”

            Without a word, the man called Emiya shook Grandfather’s hand. Together, they walked towards the eastern wing of the castle, where Grandfather kept his offices.

            “What do you think of him?” I asked.

            Still fixated on the assembly below, who quickly dispersed to their various duties, my sister answered with a measured voice.

            “He seems similar to a homunculus. Perhaps just another one of Grandfather’s tools.”

            I watched Grandfather and the man-shaped creature march into the adjacent corridor. A budding hope wilted when I realized that my sister spoke the truth. Any ordinary man would pay homage to the grand heritage of the Einzberns, or at least show accolades and deference to Grandfather. Only a false creature could act with so little emotion. Even if he came from the world outside, he could teach me nothing about it.

            The foci of the orbits of two binary stars is called the _barycenter_. In stars of equivalent mass, the barycenter is a point located within the overlapping orbits. In systems wherein one body exerts far more gravitational force on the other, the barycenter may be within the volume of that first, more massive star. This is the relationship between the Sun and the Earth. Calculating the barycenter’s location is called the _Two Body Problem_. I do not know how a third body affect the formula.

            My sister and I left the grand hall soon after. The rest of the day passed in a haze of routine, interrupted only by the small hope that I was wrong about Emiya. And that perhaps he could be a teacher for two.

             

 

            That, apparently, was not Grandfather’s design.  

            When the clock struck nine the next morning, a maid arrived bearing a small envelope. It was addressed to Vasilisa, who opened it with a brief command to the silver wire she wore around her wrist. After scanning it, she bid me good morning and left for training.

            So it came to be that I was left entirely to my own devices at morning. Alone in the parlor, I realized that I had no idea what those devices were. The maid had also left after her perfunctory curtsy.

            For an hour I observed the parlor. Oak floorboards supported a host of armchairs and a white fur rug clustered around the unlit fireplace. The gleaming marble frame cast reflections of candles dispersed along the walls. My own face was stretched across a corner, hardly recognizable except for the gawking glasses. I wondered what it would look like if we had a fire. The thought of starting one tempted me. Theoretically I knew how: a book described putting wood onto a flame.

            The thought passed when I could not find any logs to feed a fire. Not today, then.

            In my search for firewood, I found a book filled with blank pages. It was hidden in the body of a roll-top desk, patiently sitting under a veil of dust. An ornate quill pen laid across the top, along with a small decanter of ink.

            That is how I found this journal. The very sight of it awoke an urgency within me. A kind of itching of the hands and heart that could only be satisfied by filling those blank pages with memories. Beginning was the hardest part, but after the first page, the rest came pouring from my newfound pen. Shortly after the clock announced twelve o’clock, Vasilisa returned. Dirt and somebody’s blood caked her dress. Her radiant smile was unmarred, however. I returned it, and Vasilisa stifled a giggle. Somehow, she said, I had smeared ink all over my hands and face.

            My face flushed then, at which point Vasilisa lost her composure completely. Her chiming laughter filled the room, and with a flailing, joyous laugh I joined her. When the maid arrived with our lunch, she found us collapsed over the furniture, paralyzed in the throes of happiness.

 

            The unfortunate truth of writing a journal is that, eventually, the past catches up to the present. After a week of writing, I had filled two books with the ink of my life. This rendered me once again vulnerable to that familiar anxiety. The worming emptiness in my chest. It tears at me in every idle moment.

            Yesterday, I described the feeling the Vasilisa. My sister, to her credit, listened attentively and soothed me with her glowing certainty. Yet I do not think she understands. Later that evening, two homunculi arrived in our quarters and performed a medical exam on me. According to their results, my body is developing optimally, while my magic circuits have plateaued in their growth. No doubt Grandfather will devise a solution. Until then, I am left to wait.

            Instead of waiting in the loneliness of the parlor, I chose instead to occupy my time in the library. My classes had long since ended, but many volumes of magecraft remained untouched on the shelves. So I began my own curriculum. Although free of dust—maids cleaned every room of the castle daily—I suspected that these books had not been read in decades. By 1 o’clock, I had read the entirety of _Modern Remnants of True Magic_ and begun _The Five_ _Fundamental Forces_. Only when a maid arrived in the library did I stir from the pages.

            “Lunch is being served in the western parlor,” she said.

            “Thank you,” I replied, hurrying to return the books to their rightful places. Although fascinating reads, I could not keep my sister waiting for their sakes.

            “Naturally, miss,” the maid concluded.

            On my walk through the gothic corridors of the castle, a simple fact thundered into my mind: I had never had a conversation with a maid before. Or a porter, or a guard, or anyone besides Vasilisa and Grandfather. For the first time in my life, a homunculus had spoken to me.

            I want to talk to her again. I want to know what she has to say.

 

            Finding a specific maid proved to be difficult. After three days of searching, I am no closer to locating my brief acquaintance. The main difficulty arose from the fact that every single maid within the castle dresses identically. Each woman wears her black hair tightly bound in a low bun. Every high forehead, every slight smile, every manicured hand is identical. To each of them I say “Good morning” or some other pleasantry, but none reply. I could encountering the same homunculus five times a day and I would not know.

            The pressing need to find Halley—my name for her, derived from the equally elusive comet—distracted me for nearly every other aspect of my life. With Vasilisa, I could hardly pay attention to her rapt accounts of training with Emiya. A peripheral awareness of her body language told me when to nod and smile. Polite questions floated to my lips while my conscious mind replayed every detail of my conversation with Halley. I remembered the intonations of her voice, the place she stood, the smells of leather and parchment that perfumed the air.

            But I was not totally inattentive to my sister.

            “He is teaching you to use firearms?” I asked. The absurdity of the notion distracted me from my thoughts; no self-respecting mage resorted to that kind of crude violence.

            “They are not entirely without merit,” Vasilisa corrected me. “Their mechanisms possess a strange elegance. And their low reputation is exactly what makes them useful. No one expects to face a bullet in a duel between mages.”

            The inferiority of a thing might hide its true value. Such a thought had never occurred to me before. Despite its simplicity, the idea resonated in me. Why, I cannot say. Perhaps I will return to it later.

            I was not the only one exploring the castle’s library. Every book I have read insofar was mortared into place; so long untouched, each one held their place firmly. I often pulled and pried until, with a groaning sigh, it came free of its solace. But when I reached for _Journey to the West_ , it slid free with ease, so much so that I nearly fell backwards. The pages within carried less of the ancient smell of a book too long unread. Who else made time for the library? Vasilisa had not graced with place for months. Grandfather never touched a book in living memory.

            Whoever my fellow reader was, they did not stop at one. _The Illiad_ and _The Epic Sundiata_ also carried traces of reading. Stories captured their interest, it seemed. That genre never much appealed to me—the world was composed of orbital matter, and while myths and legends maintained a certain factual basis, their essence was that of pretending. My reading of these books serves no purpose outside of understanding my mysterious companion. For the first time, reading has become tedium for me.

 

            As it happened, I did not find Halley. She found me.

            That morning’s ritual occurred in happy silence. I brushed my sister’s hair as she reviewed a chart of prana consumption. The last time I asked about her assignments, she advised me to never ask again. Reading over her shoulder accomplished much the same, anyway. So while I arranged her hair into a smooth cascade, I learned about elemental affinities that mages often possess, how different elements require prana management, and how to exploit those tendencies.

            After breakfast, two homunculi arrived to clear away the meal. Their rehearsed movements melded into the general regularity of mornings. One maid stood at my right as she cleared the plates. Another posted by Vasilisa as she gathered the coffee, juice, and condiments. This morning, as she lifted a saucière, Halley fixed me in her eyes, unblinking, lowered her chin slightly while mouthing the word, “Miss.”

            Vasilsa had noticed none of this; her attention remained locked on the papers I had gleaned before. Part of me burned to point this out to my sister, to share in my revelation. But that could only distract her from training with Emiya. Although the details were kept from me, I knew resolutely that the training was paramount to Vasilsa’s life. And by proxy, mine as well.

            I scanned Halley for any detail that might mark her as unique. Her hair, skin, dress, height. Nothing differed from the maid to my right.

            The mechanics of the morning continued despite my secret transaction. Halley and the other maid cleared the table just as before. If I allowed them to walk away, I would have nothing to find her later. I needed to do something in equal measure drastic and unremarkable.

            Moving as to rise from my seat, I pushed the chair backwards suddenly. With a cry I fell to the floor, sprawled as though fallen over my feet. A moment before Vasilisa turned her head, in the instance before the other maid looked down to me, I cast a transmutation on the buckle of Halley’s shoe. The shining silver dulled as it turned to iron. Drastic and unremarkable.

            “Are you alright! You poor silly thing, let me help you up,” Vasilisa was at my side, helping me to my feet as my magic circuits ceased their quiet hum. She lifted me without any discernable effort and placed me back on the chair. By the time I had regained my seat, thanked my sister, assured her that I would be more cautious, and told her not to worry over my clumsiness, the two maids had left. Their departure was so seamless that I failed to even notice it.

            In the hour before my sister left for training, we spun our usual conversations. I accounted facts about stars while she smiled at me. In return she described her lessons with Emiya—never the material, only her impressions of him. By her account, he was a dark willow tree of a man. A statue with restless machine eyes, perpetually smoking his cigarettes and watching. Always watching. Yet Vasilisa liked working with him: his lessons, she said, were eternally practical. Everything had a reason, a purpose. She said that her purpose had finally become clear through these lessons. No amount asking could make her elaborate.

            Whatever it is, I’ll help her achieve it. I know that for certain.

            Vasilisa departed as the clock finished chiming nine, leaving the parlor a colder place. The world despairs when she goes away. Each morning, in the absence of her radiance, reality floats aimlessly. Pleasant calm becomes droning silence. The sun sets while she’s away. No amount of journaling or reading could disguise it.

            Worse than any of these was the hollowness. The marrow was scraped from my bones, my hearted reduced to a gnawing void, everything in me cried out to see her again. But I had to wait. The hollowness demanded that I lay on the sofa, half-awake and half-dead, and wait for the sun to shine again. Sometimes I did. With every passing morning, the ache grew stronger.

            And with it, so did I, every time I found the energy to walk to the library. Every book I consumed was testament that I could master this hungering void. In pages written and read, I found courage. And today was my chance to speak with Halley again, after so many days of failure. That opportunity could not be wasted.

            So I prepared myself. Breathing exercises calmed my nervous body. A short mediation from the _Dao de Jing_ loosened my mind. The final piece: I removed from its hiding place a small ball of yarn. Playing with it between my hands released a great deal of anxiety, and allowed me to read without being frozen without my sister’s warmth.

            Searching the echoing halls of Eizenbern castle allowed me to experience the concept of winter. Every surface was elegant, polished, and still. The alabaster skin of homunculi differed only slightly from the white marble that gilded the walls. They, too, resonated with chilled purpose. Perfect snowflakes dance in their eternal storm, living and dying without care. Do they know the difference? Has Grandfather removed that fateful concept from them?

            These were my thoughts as I went from room to room, stopping only to glance at any shoe I might encounter. An ageless storm around a brooding mountain. A mountain with dark, sunken eyes, and a beard of frozen waterfalls.

            Halley awaited me in the library. The inevitable place.

             She stood upon an ornate, claw-footed stool, reaching up to shake a bird-feather duster over a shelf of unloved books. A section I had yet to explore. A gold-lettered placard called them “FOLKLORE”.

            “Hello again, miss,” Halley said. Gentle footsteps brought her down to the spotless floor. I quelled a hiccup of fear as she affixed her eyes on me—direct eye contact unnerved me.

            “Hello, Halley,” I began, and stopped. Then: “Pardon me, rather, hello. Please forgive me; Halley is a name I called you for lack of anything else.”

            Nothing like a smile pulled at Halley’s face, but she did nod and say, “You possess quite the inventive mind.” A slight adjustment of her feet brought the iron buckle into view. Its dull hue glowed soft in the lamplight. Watching it, avoiding her eyes, I asked the imperative question.

            “Why did you speak to me? No other homunculus ever has.”

            “I was instructed to do so, miss.”

            “By whom?”

            “I do not know, miss,” Halley admitted. “The instructions were received ten days ago.” She lowered her head in a submissive way. I opened my mouth to tell her to cease formality—instead, my mouth hung open, slack as I considered who could have possibly given those instructions. Halley approached me ten days ago, and until that moment, nothing new had occurred in the castle. Except for Kiritsugu Emiya. The interloper who dared to interpose himself between my sister and I. What could he want in reprogramming a homunculus?

            I recovered somewhat, enough to ask another question: “What else was contained in your instructions?”

            “To recommend a selection of books, and to tell you this:”. The demure maid began to glow with infernal light. Mad sparks danced behind her eyes, and with audible stretching, an inhuman smile erupted onto her face. Her voice mutated into a cackling, atonal cacophony.

            “You have a long journey ahead of you, my pretty one. Reading will carry you far, but only action will save your precious life.”

            For, I believe, and understandable assortment of reasons, I was struck dumb. The sheer impossibility of reality overloaded by mind, sending it rioting in every direction at once. And before I could marshal any sense of order, Halley stepped forward. Her face had reassembled itself. Again she spoke softly, all physical traces of the nightmare had vanished, save for a maverick spark still visible in her eye.

            “Lunch is ready, miss. You should join your sister.” She bowed, and I nearly convinced myself that the previous minutes could never have happened.

            “Just be wary of the soup.”

 

            Halley escorted me to the parlor wordlessly. Like a guiding specter she floated ahead, her footfalls whispering against the floor. Was she real? Was any of this? Once, on that return, I thought to ask a question. Any question would do. Something that could prove the day’s events to be false, simply the smoldering remnants of some hallucinatory dream. The dreadful whimsy of some long-dead author. This cascading strangeness threatened my elliptical life, and by extension, my sister. I could not leave her alone in this prison of a life.

            All my questions faded somewhere between thought and action. Silence prevailed. Halley departed with a stiff courtesy, turning and stepping away in the mechanical fashion shared by every homunculus of the Einzbern castle. The iron buckle, now enshrouded by the angled shadows of early afternoon, looked like any other buckle a maid might wear.

            “Is that you, sister?” Vasilisa’s voice radiated from behind the door.

            “Yes!” I chimed. The ease of muscle memory directed me through the door and over to the table. As naturally as falling, or lifting one’s head towards the dawn.

            “Lateness is unusual for you; did you find some dreadfully spellbinding book to read?”

            “Yes, I believe so, at any rate,” I answered absentmindedly. It was no lie—such a wavering statement was neither dishonest nor true. Almost lying to Vasilisa was enough to shake the depths of my heart, and my words gushed forth:

            “Truthfully it’s rather complicated and I’m not certain how to explain it. Oh Vasilisa, the oddest things were said, and I cannot tell if they are truthful or only playing in my imagination. I feel caught somewhere between this life and another. A tear, a mistake, and now every carefully woven seam threatens to burst. What should I do? Please, please tell me that I am speaking sense.”

            My sister had begun eating while listening to me. Her luminous eyes moved from me to her rippling bowl of soup. She paused and mulled over my words before scooping more of the emerald-clear broth into her spoon.

            “I worry for you, sister. Grandfather said that you should avoid the fiction section of the library. I told him that you would be fine, that you understood the difference between fact and fiction. But now I’m not sure.”

            She drank deep from the spoon, closing her eyes with a look of concentration. Then her rosy eyes settled again on me.

            “Whatever unsettled you, tell me. It pains me to see you like this. It is simply awful. I will set you right again, I promise.”

            Her beauty overpowered me. Not the physical beauty of her pearl-white skin, her carved cheekbones, the angelic curve where her nose turned up just before its tip. No, it was her purity. That undeniable purpose and elegance she exuded every moment of her life. I averted my gaze down into the bowl of soup. In a green tinted mirror I saw a small girl with large glasses. Her eyes reminded me of Vasilisa, but no matter how I searched, I could not find my sister in that girl. At best she was a faded after-image, an afterthought, the background noise. A cosmic echo singing the praises of bright-burning stars; stars I could never be.

            The untouched soup reminded me of Halley’s grinning face. That horrible warning. The first time I was spoken to as an individual, and not a ceremonial prop used to worship my sister.

            “I would rather rest,” I said. “My hunger seems to have left me.”

            Without waiting for a response, I left the table. My legs trembled, threatening to collapse. A hand against the wall steadied me as I walked towards my bedchamber. I expected at any second my sister to embrace me from behind, just as she did years before. Her soothing warmth would settle my heart, and I would tell her the truth. About Halley, the warning; I would tell her how achingly I missed her. I would cry and Vasilisa would cry with me. We would put this awful day behind us and move on with our lives.

            From the parlor, I heard my sister say, “I will tell Grandfather that you are unwell. Rest easy, sister. Please feel better.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three clues to who the first Servant will be! They're vague, granted, but they're in there :)

**Author's Note:**

> There are several major departures from Fate/Zero canon. The first of which being that Kiritsugu was never hired by the Eizenberns. The second being that instead of Iri, a pair of twins were created in order to obtain a master for the Fourth Holy Grail War.


End file.
